


The Sweetest Taste I've Known, Oh Yeah

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. During his first trip to New York City, younger!inexperienced!Chris takes in his first Broadway show and gets more than he bargained for during older!Hedwig!Darren's performance of “Sugar Daddy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetest Taste I've Known, Oh Yeah

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a text conversation with [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/). Also partially written _for_ her as a belated I'm-sorry-for-giving-you-the-flu (sorry hon ♥)... and partially because I really wanted to. :) Title from "Sugar Daddy." Thank you, thank you to [Mandy](http://alittledizzy.tumblr.com/) for the quick beta and for making me rewrite the ending!
> 
> Warnings: Swearing. Completely implausible scenarios.

Chris is – nervous. Maybe more nervous than he should be, considering that he's just sitting in the audience at a theater, waiting for a show to start. 

It's not just any theater though. He's in New York City, and this is Broadway, and he'd put a significant dent in his savings to get a front-row seat to the most controversial, subversive, taboo show he could find: _Hedwig and the Angry Inch_. He's an entire continent away from the conservative assholes he's known all his life, and he wants to watch something that would make their heads spin, like that scene in _The Exorcist_. There would probably be projectile vomiting, too, if they were here.

He's alone, which is making him feel gawky and out-of-place. There's a buzz of conversation echoing throughout the theater, and Chris isn't a part of it, so he keeps flipping through his _Playbill_ over and over again, keeping his head down. He feels the phantom touch of curious stares on the back of his neck, the sides of his face, like half the room is checking out the weird loner kid (because he's pretty sure most people would probably assume that he's still a kid, even though he's finally twenty and no longer even a teenager, thank you very much).

Chris is in the City to help his best friend settle in, and she'd balked at how much the front-row tickets cost. He can't really blame her – he wouldn't have been able to swing it himself, except that his parents had actually agreed to pay for his flights as a twentieth birthday present. It's his first time outside of California, and he suddenly wishes he were staying: starting at CUNY too now that they're done with community college, living three thousand miles away from home, only going back once every year or two for the holidays. But of course, without LA within driving distance, where would he ever find so many fruitless auditions?

He sneaks a surreptitious glance at his phone. There are still six minutes to go, so he turns back to the actor bios for the third (or fourth?) time. He's kind of familiar with the guy playing Hedwig – he was in those Harry Potter parody musicals that Chris had discovered a few years ago, and more recently, that TV show about the singing high school students. Chris squints at his headshot. He's pretty cute, Chris supposes, and he's always thought so, even if it's not in the most conventional of ways and even though Chris's usual type is taller and broader of shoulder.

And then the lights go down, and the show starts, and all bets are off.

Seeing Darren Criss, live and in motion, is different than looking at a two-inch black and white photo. _Duh_ , Chris thinks, but it's _so_ different. On stage, he's all charisma and kinetic energy and muscular thighs in very (very) short costume. His singing voice is rich and strong, he prowls around effortlessly in his huge, glittering heels, and suddenly, unexpectedly, Chris is sweating a little. 

Little by little, he allows himself to relax into the experience, one tense muscle plucking loose at a time. He actually starts enjoying it – who cares if Chris is half-hard inside his best pair of jeans? No one's looking at him, down here in the dark with his legs crossed. Maybe it's kind of voyeuristic and creepy, but Chris is the only one who knows.

Thinking about how turned on he's getting just turns him on more. His face heats up, and he gets harder and has to squirm, just briefly, against his seat.

It doesn't help that Darren-as-Hedwig is singing something with extremely suggestive lyrics and grinding against the scenery. Something about sugar daddies, and then he's coming down off the stage and... oh. Oh, no. Chris _knows_ about this, and it had almost made him click on seats in the second row instead of the first. 

He's not sure if he's relieved or disappointed when Darren climbs onto the seat of a man two chairs to Chris's left, thrusting his hips and dragging the fringe of his costume over the man's face. There's no kiss though, and as Darren hopes back to the ground, Chris thinks that maybe he just doesn't do that. But then Darren saunters a few steps in Chris's direction and stops. He points one finger directly at Chris and says, “Sugar, you look sweet enough to give me a cavity.” He moves closer, right up into Chris's space, straddling his knees. “Maybe you can fill my cavity later?”

Chris can't do much more than stare, wide-eyed and slightly slack-jawed, and before he can even process what's happening, he's being kissed, and it's hard, messy, and all-too-brief. 

Then it's over, and Darren is making his way back up on stage, leaving Chris in his seat with a pounding heart and a face so hot that it feels like every stage light has been turned to shine directly on it.

It was his first kiss, he thinks dumbly. That three-second lipstick smear had been the first time another man's mouth had touched his, and in his shell-shock, he can't decide if it's the best or the worst first kiss ever. He feels feverish and stunned and... incredibly, incredibly turned on, he realizes, shifting his _Playbill_ in his lap to try and disguise his definitely-not-just-half-hard-anymore dick. 

He's not sure he moves for the entire rest of the show.

*

It _had been_ Chris's plan to go to the stage door after the show, to see if he could get his program autographed to keep as a souvenir of his one night of rebellion when he returns to his life of tedious part-time jobs and the endless cycle of driving to LA, auditioning, and getting rejected. But now he's not sure if he even _can_. How is he supposed to look this guy in the face? And even if he does, isn't it kind of creepy to get the autograph of the first person you kissed? 

On the other hand, what are the chances that Darren even remembers who he is? Or cares? Chris can't deny that it would be kind of nice to see the face of the person who'd kissed him one more time, especially without the thick layer of makeup. 

Finally, Chris decides to go for it. He ends up sneaking close to the guardrail, by virtue of being alone and able to slip into the small spaces left between groups of fans. When he can't push forward any farther, he settles uneasily in place, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tries to eavesdrop on the group of fans to his left to figure out how long he'll have to wait. It's the same kind of awkward as before the show started: people around him murmur excitedly in groups while he stands alone. He's even got the same stupid _Playbill_ in his hands.

When Darren appears, Chris is surprised at how small he looks. It's a ridiculous thought – of _course_ he looks smaller offstage and out of his sky-high heels and the blonde wig that's about half as big as he is. What he's wearing now is a lot simpler, just a plain t-shirt and jeans on a warm summer night, his dark hair damp and curly. Chris has to admit that it's all really, really working. Butterflies kick up in his stomach, and he has the sudden urge to get the hell out of there.

He starts to turn, the crowd teeming and cheering around him, but then Darren motions for quiet and Chris pauses, his curiosity getting the better of him. Darren is humble and kind, shouting out to everyone that he loves them and that “there's no way I'd be up on that stage without your support, so thank you, thank you, thank you! And hey, without you, I'd never have gotten so good at walking in high heels!” _That_ comment is followed a wave of laughter like he just cracked the funniest joke ever told. Chris rolls his eyes, but something about it all makes Chris stay when Darren starts moving along the guardrail to sign autographs.

It feels creepy to stare at Darren as he works his way down the line, even though Chris just spent an hour and a half doing exactly that. He looks at the _Playbill_ instead, looks at his hands, looks at the excited faces waiting and feels like he doesn't belong among them.

Darren is only a few feet away now, and Chris is still half-ready to turn and run, but he can't in the crush of bodies, so he stands quiet and mortified. Maybe if he doesn't clamber forward like everyone else, he'll just get swallowed up and Darren will pass right by. 

No such luck. Not only does Darren see him, but he seems to zero directly in on Chris and light up. “Hey!” he exclaims. “There's my sugar daddy! Come here, man.” 

Chris's face flames as he slides forward, partially on his own and partially with the momentum of the crowd and Darren urging him up to the railing. While he's scrawling a messy signature across the front of Chris's _Playbill_ , he asks, “You have your phone? Want a selfie?” 

“Oh, um, sure,” Chris says eloquently, fumbling it out of his pocket.

Darren takes the phone out of his hands and ducks in next to Chris, as close as he can with the guardrail between them. His face is all pressed up along the side of Chris's, and when Chris catches a quick glimpse of them on the screen, Darren is grinning but his own face looks more like a grimace. The flash goes off and it's immortalized. 

And then Darren turns right into his ear and says, low, “Meet me at the Red Flame?” He moves away and hands Chris his phone back, smiling. When Chris doesn't do anything other than gape, Darren adds, “I'm going either way. So. Maybe?”

He moves on to the next person. 

Chris turns and pushes his way numbly back out of the crowd. He feels – angry, he realizes, and kind of gross. He's wanted to kiss a guy, of course. He wants to have sex with a guy, _of course_. But not like this. And frankly, what kind of asshole is _this_ guy, to assume that Chris is going to be so impressed with Darren's resume that he'll just take off his clothes and open his legs? 

He pulls out his phone again and googles the Red Flame, to see exactly what kind of seedy bordello that Darren Criss is trying to lure him to, and he finds out that it's right down the street, and it's – 

Chris blinks.

It's a diner. That serves pancakes until midnight.

Oh.

*

Chris tries to tell himself that he isn't going to go. He tries to hold onto his fading sense of anger – because Darren shouldn't expect Chris to be at his beck and call any more than he should expect Chris to sleep with him – but. Well.

Darren _is_ hot, and Darren kissed him – even if it was just part of the show – and he's older and at least a little famous and he apparently wants to spend more time with Chris. And what's the next time anything so exciting is going to happen while he's living in Clovis and working two lame part-time jobs? Besides, he can always leave. Just because he shows up doesn't mean he has to _stay_. 

It's enough justification for him to walk into the Red Flame and request a table for two. “I'm meeting someone,” he tells the hostess. “But I'm not sure when he's going to get here.” 

“No problem, sugar,” she says, and Chris cringes a little at her choice of words. “Just make sure you order something while you wait.” She leads him to a booth. The waiter offers him coffee, and Chris orders a Diet Coke instead.

And then he's sitting and waiting by himself. Again. He sips his Coke and plays with his phone and almost gets up to leave at least a dozen times, but suddenly, someone is sliding onto the bench across from him, and he looks up to see Darren. He's got a beanie on now, along with thick-rimmed glasses and a hoodie sweatshirt, and yeah, that all works too. “Hey!” Darren says brightly. “I'm glad you came.”

“Hey,” Chris echoes, just as the waiter appears again. Darren orders an orange juice.

“I'll take all the vitamin C I can get,” he explains with a wink. “Kissing someone different every night.”

Chris freezes, feels his face go stony. _You can leave_ , he reminds himself. _You can leave_. “I –”

“Hey,” Darren interrupts him, clearly picking up on Chris's unease. He extends one hand partway across the table, then retracts it. “I'm sorry. Terminal foot in mouth disease over here. Can I start over?”

After a few seconds' consideration, Chris sits back against the booth, his spine still stiff. “Okay.”

Darren smiles and sticks his hand out again. “Awesome. Nice to meet you, man. I'm Darren.”

Chris takes it. Darren has a warm, firm, comfortable handshake. “Chris. And this is your last chance, so use it wisely.”

He's not kidding, but Darren isn't deterred. His grin is still relaxed and friendly. “Chris,” he says, heavily, like he's savoring it. “That's awesome. But I'm not sure how this can be my last chance when we've only just met.” 

Chris rolls his eyes, but he can't help it when the corners of his lips flicker up wryly. “Okay, okay,” he relents, and he's saved from saying more when the waiter walks back up with Darren's juice. He takes their orders – Darren requests an impressively large breakfast, and Chris shrugs and does the same – and their menus, then leaves them alone again.

“So...” Chris starts, still awkward and suspicious. “Do you do this with every guy you kiss during the show?”

“What? No!” Darren shakes his head and chuckles. “I mean, I can see why you'd think that, and obviously there's no reason for you to believe a fucking word I'm saying, but the guy I kissed yesterday was, like, sixty. Not that there's anything wrong with being sixty, of course, but I prefer people who are a little closer to my own age range.” 

“For?” Chris asks, arching an eyebrow.

Darren grins wolfishly. “Eating pancakes with.”

“That better not be a euphemism,” Chris warns him.

He's met with an impressive eye roll. “Chris. Look around.” Darren gestures at the room. “We're in a diner. I'm fucking starving, and I want some pancakes, and pancakes are always better with a companion. I'm not going to lie – you're an attractive guy. And you were at the show alone, right?”

“Right,” Chris confirms reluctantly.

“So I thought to myself, maybe this good-looking guy would also like some pancakes and conversation. There's time to worry about all that other shit later, all right? Maybe we'll hate each other anyway.”

Which is all well and good, if Chris is being honest, except – “I don't live here,” he blurts out. 

“Oh yeah? Where do you live?”

“California,” Chris says. “In a backwards shit town called Clovis that you've probably never heard of if you're lucky, but I'm trying to move to LA.”

Darren nods and takes a sip of his orange juice. “I'm headed back to LA after this is all over.”

“After what's all over?”

“My run. I've got six weeks left as Hedwig, then I'm going back to LA to shoot a movie.” 

Chris blinks at him incredulously. “And you want to hang out with some weird, random guy who showed up at your show alone when you get there.”

Darren grins again, shrugs. “I don't know yet, man. That's what the next hour or so is all about, right? So, what do you do in the glorious backwards shit town of Clovis, California?”

*

Conversation with Darren is surprisingly easy, once Chris decides to just go with the flow. Just _going with the flow_ isn't a usual part of his nature, but somehow Darren puts him at ease enough to do it, and before Chris knows it, all that's left is their two empty, syrupy plates, and the check, dropped at the edge of the table half in a ring of condensation from Darren's glass. 

They have a lot more in common than Chris anticipated: they share some of the same geeky pursuits (“Chris, you're looking at the guy who helped stage multiple Harry Potter musicals – come on”), and Darren is impressed with his writing, impressed with his vocal range, impressed with every single stupid joke that Chris is brave enough to make, if the amount he laughs at them is anything to go by.

Chris even feels comfortable enough to ask why Darren kissed him, and not the first guy. “You clearly couldn't see the fucking panic in his eyes,” Darren says, chuckling. “He looked like a very straight deer in some extremely non-heteronormative headlights. I car washed him to have a little fun, but I generally try not to traumatize people for life. If I can help it anyway.”

“So I looked – what? Gay?” Chris asks dubiously.

Darren looks across and smiles. “Nope. You looked cute.” 

*

After Darren insists on paying the bill, they're back on the sidewalk, waiting to head in opposite directions with an awkward distance between them. People pass by, but no one seems to notice that they're walking past someone who's been on prime time television. Of course, Chris thinks, Darren looks pretty different from his character, and it had been kind of a niche show.

“So, you're gonna give me your number, right?” Darren asks. “For when we're both in LA. Because we didn't end up hating each other.”

Chris is actually feeling confident enough to shoot back, “Didn't we?” It feels like flirting, but he has next to no experience to compare it to.

Darren's looking right into his eyes with a relaxed grin, which amps up a little at Chris's words. “Well, I'm telling you that I didn't, so the ball's in your court, Christopher.”

The sound of his full name brings a flush to his cheeks. “I suppose hate isn't the right word,” he admits. Darren thumbs his phone to life, and once Chris's number is saved on it, Chris asks, “Are you going to use it?”

“Of course I am. I had a great time with you,” Darren says, and then his face turns roguish. “And how am I ever going to get a second kiss if I don't call you?”

Chris's face falls.

Darren doesn't miss the change in expression. “Whoa! Hey, whoa. Okay, that foot in mouth disease? Clearly flaring up. What did I say? No, never mind. I'm sorry for whatever it was.”

“It's nothing,” Chris bites out. He fakes a smile that feels nothing like one.

Darren looks concerned. “Chris, I really don't want to leave it like this, man. I'm sorry.”

“I told you, it's fine.”

“You don't look like it's fine.”

Chris closes his eyes briefly. He should just tell the truth. He _should_ , and then Darren can just realize how horribly, disgustingly young Chris really is, even beyond their age difference, and then he can delete Chris's number and they can just go their separate ways. It'll be easier than anything else. Chris straightens his spine and looks evenly at Darren. “At the show today? That was the first time I've kissed a guy.”

Darren's eyebrows fly up. “Hey, if you're straight, you don't need to –”

“No, I'm gay,” Chris interrupts him. “I've just – never kissed a guy.”

He waits, for what he's not sure – scorn, maybe, or derision, but Darren just nods, his face solemn. “That makes me wish I hadn't grabbed you. I'm sorry. Again. Your first kiss shouldn't have been... that.”

“Well, if you want to be technical, my first kiss was with a girl named Angie. She cornered me on the playground. She was eight and I was seven.”

“Oooh, an older woman.”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees ruefully. “But seriously, don't apologize. It's all right. I mean, who else has _that_ as their first kiss story?” 

That makes Darren smile a little, at least. “That's a good way to look at it.”

“And hey,” Chris adds, “maybe the second one will be even better.” It's probably not going to come from Darren anymore, but Chris can live with that. 

“Maybe.” Darren's got a funny look on his face as he says it, and in the odd pause that follows, he shuffles forward half a step. Chris's heart gets the message before he does, and it starts to pound against his ribcage. He stays frozen in place as Darren lifts one hand, uses it to hold the side of Chris's face, gentle but firm. Chris only moves when he realizes that Darren is waiting for some kind of signal, and when he does, it's a tiny nod.

The kiss is chaste, five seconds of soft pressure and just barely, the dampness of the inside of Darren's lips. And then it's over, and Darren is letting him go, backing away down the sidewalk. “Better?” he asks. He looks kind of flushed, just like Chris feels.

“Both were good,” Chris answers truthfully, blushing harder.

“Good,” Darren says. He's far enough away now where they have to turn around soon. “I'll call you. It's going to be a busy few weeks. But when I get to town, I'm calling you.” 

Chris nods. “Okay.”

*

After he gets home, Chris convinces himself that first of all, Darren isn't going to call him, and secondly, he doesn't care. His stomach must not be as convinced as the rest of him, though, because it flips every time his phone makes a noise, even if it's not his ringtone. “You have six weeks to wait,” he mutters at it sternly, “and I _refuse_ to go through this for that long.” 

But then, not even five days after he leaves New York, it _is_ his ringtone, and it's an unidentified number. Chris usually lets those calls go to voicemail because he's not interested in talking to telemarketers who think he's a woman, but today... he answers, and his anxious _hello_ is greeted with a voice so warm he can practically see the smile in it.

“Hey, sugar daddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The tumblr post is [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/116116868407/the-sweetest-taste-ive-known-oh-yeah) if you care to reblog or feel free to just [stop by and say hi](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
